The Inquisition
by Black Mushroom
Summary: The Inquisition has ruled the minds of the people of Seiyo for over a year. Conflict was blooming, sides are being chosen. How much destruction can there be before nothing is left?  Almost  all pairings included. Rating may change depending on violence.


**Hi there! Thanks for clicking!**

**You can skip the extremely long introduction. It has some random information that some people may look for or need in order to understand the story. It would be a good idea to read it, but I'd understand if it looks like heck of a lot of reading that no one wants to do. The information isn't particularly important, just kind of useful if you get confused. Oh, and did I mention it's very long?**

**Story Summary:** The Seiyan Inquisition has ruled the people of Seiyo for over a year. Conflict was blooming, sides are being chosen. How much destruction can there be before nothing is left?

**Disclaimer: **This here is just a bit of fanwork for Shugo Chara, which is licensed by some lucky bastard who has nothing to do with me. I won't be making any money off of this. However, I _do_ own all original aspects (e.g. the OCs, the plot, etc.)

**Pairings: **This is a Mikiseki fic, but you bet that won't be the only pairing in fic—Miki and Kiseki themselves can be paired with other people too. I already have plenty of pairings in the mix. Though if there's any pairing you want to remind me about or you want to see more of in the fic, then go ahead and tell me.

**Note #1:** The Seiyan Inquisition is similar in concept to the Spanish Inquisition, just like Seiyo is based heavily off of Medieval Europe. However, I also stuck in bits and pieces of a lot of other places and times and made some parts up entirely. Same goes for history. I'm sorry if that's a little confusing.

**Note #2:** Almost none of the humans from the actual Shugo Chara will appear in this story. Some will be historical figures, some would be people who aren't alive, and others may have something based off of them; the point is, they aren't going to show up very often, if at all. Sorry if this is a turn-downer for any of you. Though, on a brighter note, I will be making omakes (extra-randomness) if this story becomes popular enough. Omakes, if I do make them, will be the canon Shugo Chara world, meaning all our humans will be back. It's just that the story itself will be only about the Charas.

**Note #3: **There are no cute little chibis floating over people's shoulders in this story. Everyone is human, except for occasional exceptions. However, because of the different situations they are now in, they may be a bit out of character. I'll try my best to keep that from being an issue, but please forgive me if I... well, if I fail.

* * *

**Someone Else's Misery**

"No! Please! It wasn't intentional!"

A whip cracked over the man's bloodied back. Wide-eyed Temari cringed as she watched through the window of her guest villa. Perhaps she should ask her fiancée for a different villa, one not so close to the local prison.

But it felt like a crime to run away from this horror. Perhaps it was better that she saw this than someone who'd merely shut the window and turn away.

The soldier with the whip tightened his hand around the man's neck and continued pushing him forward. The hoarse pleas of a desperate man continued to reach skyward, choking Temari with helplessness. She was a princess, the fiancée of the future king. Yet she could do nothing as someone suffered right before her eyes.

"I have children! They already lost a mother! How will they—"

Another whiplash. "You should've thought of that before you attempted to stain the name of our future Queen!"

Temari gasped, clutching the front of her kimono. Was this... her fault?

"Temari-san..."

She whipped around. In the doorway was man with emerald hair in a loose ponytail. He, like her, wore the traditional clothing of Seiyan royalty. A wooden katana hung at his side.

"M-Musashi-sama!" There stood her knight, too modest for shining armour. The boy destined to be a king, with her at his side.

"Is something the matter, Temari-san?"

She hid her trembling lip with her long silk sleeve. "Of course not."

"Temari-san..." Strong arms encircled her like the warmth of a fireplace. "A king cannot have a miserable queen."

_But a queen cannot have a miserable king either_, she thought. He was already torn over the Inquisition that his parents began. She would only stab him in the wound if she cried on his shoulder about it.

"I'm not miserable," she said, her head against his shoulder. It was the truth. No matter how much it hurt to be the reason for someone's suffering, she would never be miserable. Not with Musashi.

* * *

She always left two of her windows unlocked, one in the back and one on the side. Just for him, she said, before explaining a simple but perfect plan for him to get in and out quickly and avoid getting caught.

The window opened with a breathless whine. A lean figure clouded the moonlight, darkening every shadow in the room. It soon disappeared with a low thump, allowing the moonlight to return to its rightful nooks and crannies.

Yoru glanced around the familiar workshop. Long tables formed a loose triangle around a stout, paint-covered stool and an art easel with a scantily clad canvas. A tree stood in the dimensionless white of the canvas. Half of it was sketched in lead pencil—the other was painted carefully with thin black lines. To Yoru, it seemed as though someone had stopped creation midair. He couldn't tell if the painted part was morphing into the light sketches, or if it was the other way around. Somehow it almost seemed more confusing, more meaningful in its half-existence.

It was indescribable, as all her art tended to be.

The tables were covered with... well, an "organised mess", as the artist herself called it. Thousands of eccentricities and quirks had found their way onto the table. Sections of rope wrapped around the table to a knot underneath, separating the projects and supplies sprawled out like villages. Pimples of paint covered the table—she had a habit of mixing her paint right on the table. Somewhere in the midst of all the paint brushes would the lone lead pencil. She could keep track of all her brushes (so well, in fact, that it bordered on mania), but she'd be utterly baffled by pencils. She never kept more than one pencil in use, and always returned it to her easel. A small string of pride strummed within him. He had made the easel for her, after constantly seeing her prop her canvas up on the windowsill.

He remembered that she drew him a portrait to pay him back. He could've sat still, like any good model, but nooooo, he changed his pose every three seconds, just to see if she'll throw something at him. It turned out that she had already memorised his face and didn't need to him to model. Go figure.

A smile drifted over his face, but it soon crumbled as Yoru's memories of this workshop eventually reached the present.

"Damn it, Miki." He sounded miserable, even to himself. "Where did they take you?"

* * *

**Weeeelllllllll...**

**Sorry again if the characters are OOC, or if the writing is corny, or something else. I'm sort of new to writing stuff like this. Criticism will be accepted (and maybe even flames, if they make sense).**

**So there you have it. Chapter One. Feel free to throw candy at me. (My favourite flavour is Read+Review!)**


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